better not pout
this morning, my co-worker told me about how her daughter, at age nine, still believes in santa. “is she too old to still believe?” anita asked me. she wasn’t worried, mind you, about her daughter’s fantasy life, but instead complained about how pretending to be santa was really getting to be a huge pain in her arse.
i tried to remember when i stopped believing in santa claus… i recall walking down the stairs of ascension day school while matt mckenzie (or maybe it was another boy– they all run together in my mind in a sea of loud obnoxiousness and fast, skinny legs) told me that of COURSE there wasn’t a santa claus and how could i be such a dumbhead?
but i fiercely resisted. i’d SEEN the movies. i’d READ polar express, and i wanted to hear the tinkle of that silver sleigh bell for my entire life.
and yet, a few years before, when my mother took me to see the acadiana mall santa claus, i refused to leave the department store dressing room. i was absolutely terrified.
yeah, i didn’t even make it near santa’s lap.
i guess i secretly knew that the mall santa wasn’t the same mystical figure of my dreams, the santa who sits by his cozy fire and reads children’s letters while sipping some (no doubt v. fine) hot chocolate.
as hard as i try, i can’t recollect when i stopped believing or why. maybe my parents finally told me? maybe one day it just stopped making sense, cos honestly, why didn’t the children in africa get presents, too? why was santa so stingy?
was i sad? upset? or did i take it in stride, since i was Older and Wiser?
i hate that i can’t remember, because i’m pretty sure that was my first experience with losing faith. and when i, digging through my mess of a brain, no longer find any memories of such a milestone, it feels as though i’ve assumed the life of a stranger.
i still miss putting out cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer. i always worried that people didn’t give them enough attention, even though they performed all of the manual labor). now, knowing the truth, i love the idea of my mom downing the milk and my dad gnawing off the end of a carrot. they wanted to keep the magic in my life a little longer…
but i cling to it, even though i don’t believe in santa anymore. i wish we still put out carrots for the reindeer. i wish i still stayed up, my ears straining for the sound of a sleigh hitting our roof.
maybe, though, it’s the wanting to believe that sustains the magic. there IS something amazing about the way christmas lights twinkle in the dead of night, the way gingerbread smells… not just a holiday magic, but an every day magic. i know it exists. i feel it.
i guess i just don’t want to be susan, who never came back to narnia, even though she fought battles there and trampled through piles of snow. she became too grown up to believe.
i never want to be too grown up. i promise.
I remember when Scott Wandstrat told me that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. “I totally knew that,” I lied. “But what do you think about the Tooth Fairy? That one still kind of makes sense to me…” He laughed at me.
When Erik demanded that my mom tell him the truth about Santa Claus in a Luby’s and she decided to go ahead and let him know that there wasn’t one, he cried so loud that we had to leave before we’d finished our desserts. “But you wanted to know!” she argued. And yeah, he had wanted to know the truth, but that wasn’t the truth he wanted to know.
And when, after at least 7 years of lies (if not more, I don’t fully remember how old I was when I got my definitive proof), my Dad told me that Santa wasn’t real but of course Jesus was, I knew that I was going to have to figure things out for myself because no way were grown ups to be trusted ever again.
Now, of course, I am one of those grown ups, and so I don’t really trust myself, either. I don’t mind letting the beliefs of childhood slip away, though, because each one that fades into the ether reveals something new to marvel at in the real world.
Um, unlike Henri (is anyone surprised?), I am STILL PISSED that Santa, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy are not real. I miss the nervous butterflies in my stomach as I was lying in bed on Christmas Eve, the straining to hear the sleigh bells on the roof, yes, and waking up at 4:30 (my brother and I would always wake up at the EXACT same time!) to sneak a peek at our bulging stockings. Thanks for the great post, Sarahpants!
Sigh…sweet but sad post. My mom told me that when I was five (only five! I should have had many seasons more of believing in elves, Mrs. Claus, Donner, Dancer, and the whole gang), I marched up to her and said in that solemn yet casual way that children have, “Mommy, it’s okay, I know there’s no Santa Claus. It doesn’t make sense. How could he fly everywhere at once? I know he’s not real. It’s okay, you can tell me.” Of course, she told me the truth, and of course, I started bawling and ran into my room.
She told me much later, when we had The Conversation that resulted in my telling her that, no, I wasn’t going to find my own church now that I was in college, “I knew then that you were going to be trouble. You ask too many questions.”
I wish I weren’t trouble though, you know? I wish I believed in all of it, that I never asked questions and that I could accept all of the lovely stories that can comfort you when your faultering on the brink of…nothing.
you’re. not your. that shouldn’t bother me, but of course it does.
this is one reason why many people have kids
in the end, it makes it very easy to stay young
vicariously living through their genuine joy
i remember trying to stay up, propping myself up with pillows by my door, looking down the hall to the living room- i’d wake up in bed. gifts around the tree. cold feet and hands, but i didnt care.
my mom told me that she once tried to tape her eyes open for the night
I should have suspected something when my father told me santa liked BEER and cookies, not milk and cookies.
Seriously.
Posterchild for divorce, hello.
But the only thing i ever remember was my mother telling me that there was a Spirit of St. Nick, that meant more than Santa Claus. And for whatever reason, I was old enough, or jaded enough, to not be scared by that. And then I could go to bed without cracking open a beer at the age of seven. It was quite nice actually.
As a Jew, I never had to believe in jack. Which of course carried over into other areas. I remember when I was in preschool, when we were being taught the old testament story of creation, asking my religious school teacher where the dinosaurs were, and being really disappointed in the answer.
I always knew not to bust the other kids’ bubble, though. I didn’t “out” Santa to anyone else. Mostly because most of the kids at my school were Jewish too.
At the same time, I do believe that this healthy skepticism towards make believe is what makes Jews good at accounting/banking and show biz. Some of us keep that habit of sober, critical, rational analysis, and the others reject it and embrace the opposite - the fanciful and imaginitive things that we were taught as little kids were just make believe.
Also, we love money. Just love it to bits.
When I found Sanata’s wrapping paper in my mom’s closet… Lets see maybe 9?
There was the awesome year though that we left the house before christmas, went to WI, came back after christmas and santa had been to the house. It was pretty cool, plus I think Andrew had said that year that he didn’t believe in Santa anymore, so that’s why my parents did it. Andrew kept asking the neighbors, but he was asking the wrong ones and the neighbors had no clue what he was talking about.
Now I get to be Santa, and santa has special wrapping paper!
hmm, i think that santa was later arrested for touching children. actually that happened at the santa at the mall near us in maryland when i was little. too much christmas magic isn’t a good thing.
I remember being impressed with how Santa knew which house I was going to be at since every year it was different and how sometimes Santa would visit both houses just in case.
I don’t remember how old I was. Probably about when I was old enough to recognize Robin’s handwriting on the tags.
I never really believed in Santa… but, the Tooth Fairy?!?! WTF!?!? I am still in mourning over that one.
BTW, the Santa in your picture kinda looks like he has horns… Like, um, well… Devil Santa.